


Torchlock: Forgetting Diane Holmes

by icantojones



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, Family Secrets, Flirting, Multi, headcanon expansion, sex might come later we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantojones/pseuds/icantojones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For anyone living a relatively normal life, trying to forget an ex-lover who left you broken-hearted is a difficult enough task.<br/>When you're Torchwood and she was a beautiful, mysterious airplane pilot from the 1950s, it's even harder.<br/>And when the British Government starts meddling on account of 'personal business'... well, Owen Harper may as well just pour steak sauce over his head and offer himself up as a snack for Myfanwy, because forgetting Diane Holmes sure as hell isn't going to get any easier.</p>
<p>Takes place after Torchwood 1x11 "Combat" but is based on 1x10 "Out of Time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything Changes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything Torchwood belongs to Russell T Davies; everything Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and Thompson, and everything everything belongs to the BBC. Plot belongs to yours truly, and I make no money off of it.

_Hopping down from the plane, she shook her dark hair out of her eyes and confidently shook Jack’s hand with a bright, red-lipsticked smile. “Diane Holmes, Pilot.”_

_Owen couldn’t keep his eyes off her. They went to dinner and drinks, smoked together, and danced in an empty parking lot. As they lay drowsily in the bed in his loft, he confessed in a whisper, “I can’t concentrate ... all I see is you. When I’m not with you, I’m out of focus. How have you done this to me?” Diane smiled into his shoulder. “I love you too.”_

_So when the time came for her to leave, Owen begged her to take him with her. She pulled her goggles down over her eyes and started the engine, blowing him a kiss._

_He kept the scarf she had put around his neck._

\------

 _Owen still isn’t quite himself_ , Jack thought to himself as he lounged in his office, his feet up on the desk. It was a quiet rift day, thank god -- the team really needed it after all they’d been through in the past few weeks: the displaced people from 1953, the Weevil fight-club, where Jack had found him facing his certain death ... _I should ask Ianto to take him out for drinks._

Jack was shaken out of his reverie by Tosh calling politely but in a very high-pitched tone from the Hub’s main area, “Jack, I think you need to see this!” _Shit,_ he thought as he shrugged into his coat. _That’s her ‘freaked-out’ voice._

Tosh was pointing at one of her many monitors, the one that showed the CCTV feed just outside the Hub’s tower, and she did indeed appear spooked, which set Jack’s nerves on high alert. For as long as Jack had known her, Tosh was always calm and collected in the face of the truly paranormal and altogether _weird_ stuff the team had gone through together, but now her eyes were wide and she was breathing just a little shallower than normal, enough to tell Jack that something was deeply amiss.

Jack placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and leaned over to get a clear look at the screen, then raised his eyebrows. Outside the tower stood an auburn-haired man in a dark grey suit, leaning on an umbrella and staring expectantly at the CCTV camera. And -- Jack inhaled sharply -- _there’s the real kicker,_ he was standing directly on the pavement square that only they knew to be the invisible lift entrance to the hub. As Jack and Tosh stared, the man lifted his umbrella and gave the pavement three sharp taps, as if he were knocking. The sound echoed eerily through the hub.

Without a second thought, Jack strode over to the wall and pressed the button to allow the man in.

“Jack!” Tosh looked at him angrily. “You don’t know who he is; why the _hell_ would you let him in?”

“He seems to know what he’s doing, and a little curiosity never hurt anyone,” Jack winked at her before raising his voice. “People! Stations please! We have a guest!”

Gwen emerged from downstairs, and a little while later Owen did as well, still looking bedraggled and, well, _miserable_ was the only word Jack could think of to describe him.

“Where’s Ianto?” Jack asked the team, looking around for the usually prompt man.

“You sent him out twenty minutes ago to stock up the coffee supply,” Gwen said, exasperatedly. “Remember?”

“Damn,” Jack cursed under his breath. “My timing could really use some work.”

The lift lowered slowly, lights flashing, while the mysterious man stood frozen in exactly the same position he had had on the pavement, leaning on his umbrella with one foot crossed in front of the other. As the lift ground to a stop, Jack finally got a close look at him. He seemed to be about forty, with thinning, deep-auburn hair and a _really_ expensive suit. Piercing, intelligent, blue eyes, and a longish nose. As he reached up to straighten his tie -- _long fingers_ , Jack’s brain interrupted him -- he tilted his head and smiled politely at Jack, as if he were waiting for something.

 _Wow,_ Jack thought, _gotta love a man in a suit. Wonder if this could be classified as a fetish..._

Gwen coughed pointedly, and Jack turned to find her glaring at him, somehow knowing exactly what he was thinking.

Jack cleared his throat. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he said officially, “and you are...?”

Jack didn’t quite know what he was expecting to hear when the man opened his mouth, but it definitely wasn’t _that_ kind of posh, London accent.

“Doesn’t matter,” the man said silkily.

Jack opened his mouth to protest that _yes, in fact, it matters a great deal when a stranger apparently knows all about your secret base,_ but the man spoke again.“I have urgent personal business with Owen Harper.”

Gwen turned to look at Owen, who seemed just as confused as she felt. He shrugged and mouthed, “no idea” at her.

Jack raised his eyebrows at the man. “Not with me? I’m hurt,” he pouted. The man rolled his eyes and turned on the heel of his shoe. “Do you have a room we could use?” he asked. Power seemed to roll off the man in waves, and it didn’t even occur to Jack to refuse. Instead, he directed them to the conference room, making the man promise to give him some answers after he and Owen were finished.

\-----

 _Jesus Christ,_ Owen thought as he followed the man into the glass-walled room. _Haven’t I been through enough? Why does this shit specifically seek me out? Just leave me the fuck alone._

He sat down roughly, not-quite-glaring-but-not-looking-very-friendly at the man across from him, and waited for him to speak.

“It is my understanding,” the man began, “that about a month ago a plane arrived here through the rift, the pilot of which was named Diane Holmes.”

Owen groaned, resisting the urge to thump his forehead on the table. Just when he was trying to forget about the whole thing, Diane just  _had_ to come up again.

The man looked at him oddly, but continued. “And I understand that you had ... romantic relations with her while she was here, but she was sent back into the rift afterwards. Am I correct?”

He asked it as if it were a rhetorical question, but Owen felt compelled to nod in agreement.

“Well, this is. Er. A bit of an uncomfortable situation for me,” the man narrowed his eyes, seeming just slightly less confident. “But I am of the belief that at the time she was sent through the rift and back to the 1950s, she was pregnant.”

Owen blinked but said nothing.

“With your child.”

Still nothing.

“Who was my father. My name is Mycroft Holmes.”

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck Diane was pregnant with my child and HOLD UP ONE FUCKING MINUTE IS THIS MAN SAYING HE’S MY GRANDSON holy hell I am NOT old enough to be a grandfather this is ridiculous..._

Mycroft eyed Owen carefully, watching the emotions play out over his face until the doctor buried his head in his hands. He let a few seconds pass before speaking.

“Are --” Mycroft cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you alright?”

Owen raised his head and stared, stunned, at Mycroft. “Alright?” he laughed hoarsely. “I just found out I had a grandson, and how old are you, anyway, like forty?”

“Forty-three,” Mycroft corrected softly.

“Christ, I have a forty-three year old grandson while I’m thirty-five, with a woman from the fifties I knew for a week and a half who was then sent back to the fifties, and you’re asking me if I’m ALRIGHT?”

“Yes, precisely,” Mycroft said, regaining his calm.

“NO, I’M NOT FUCKING ALRIGHT!!”

\-----

Ianto strolled into the Hub through his usual tourist-office entrance, carrying bags full of coffee accoutrements: beans and filters, milk, cream, and sugar. Gwen, Jack, and Tosh were standing together, trying to get the best view into the conference room while staying out of the direct line of sight. Puzzled, he tilted his head and tried to peer into the conference room but only saw Owen looking shocked and the back of someone’s head. Ianto shook his head and decided to be productive and make some coffee.

He came out of the kitchen a few minutes later carrying the team’s five usual cups of steaming coffee, plus another for the guest, and made his way over to the Jack-Gwen-Tosh huddle, passing out mugs and whispering “Jack, what’s going on?”

Jack took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes, exhaling with an almost obscene noise. “God, Ianto, what would I do without your coffee?”

“I live to serve,” Ianto smiled. “Now don’t think I didn’t notice you evading the question, _Sir_.”

Jack sighed. “Some guy was standing on the invisible lift pavement square, staring at the CCTV camera, so we let him in and he said he had some ‘urgent personal business’ with Owen, which in my experience usually means either the mafia or an orgy-gone-wrong, but so far it looks to be neither, which is a damn shame.”

Ianto rolled his eyes and sifted through Jack’s inappropriate tangents to get to the facts of the story. “So you don’t know him, but he knows Owen and apparently knows about the Hub?”

“Yep, Jack’s clearly insane.” Gwen nodded, placing her now-empty mug back on Ianto’s tray. “Thanks for the coffee, luv.”

“Hey!” Jack turned to Gwen. “I made him promise to give us answers after he’s done!”

Ianto cleared his throat, interrupting their squabble. “Do you think I ought to go in there with their drinks or wait until they come out?”

“Ohhh, go in!” Tosh beamed at him. “Maybe you can find out what they’re talking about!”

“Actually, can we go with you?” Gwen asked eagerly. “It doesn’t look like Owen’s saying anything; maybe they’re finishing up.”

Ianto looked at Jack to make the call. “Okay with me,” Jack shrugged. “Hell, I’m curious too.”

So the four of them crowded around the door to the conference room while Ianto knocked and gestured to the tray of mugs. Owen stood up, welcoming the interruption, and let him in -- Ianto left the door open for easier eavesdropping on the others’ parts, and handed Owen his coffee. But when he rounded the table to face the guest, his jaw dropped.

Ianto stood speechless, staring at Mycroft Holmes, whose eyes were fixed on the table before him. _I thought he'd died,_ his mind raced, bringing back memories of two years ago: the flames, the smoke, the metallic voices and deadly laser beams of cybermen. He had known, almost theoretically, of the presence of Mycroft Holmes, government liaison to the London branch, but his first and last -- until now, anyway -- encounter with the man was during the battle of Canary Wharf, when Ianto had seen Mr Holmes battling four cybermen amidst the rubble. He blinked a few more times, making sure his brain wasn’t playing tricks on him, but no. _It really is him._

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ianto over Mycroft Holmes’ head, wondering why Ianto had suddenly become a statue. Ianto looked back at Jack, smiled, and placed Mr Holmes’ cup down in front of him. “Thank you...” the man murmured, then raised his head and fixed his eyes on Ianto with a spark of recognition. “...Ianto Jones.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written (and as such is not beta'd), so thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Basically the first time I watched Out of Time I noticed the name and came up with the headcanon that Mycroft and Sherlock are descendants of Diane Holmes. And then, of course, why not have Mycroft be involved with Torchwood? After all, nobody knows what he really does outside of being The British Government...
> 
> Any comments are welcome; anything from criticism to praise to suggested plot points (especially suggested plot points! I want to play with your headcanons!), so please please please post your thoughts. 
> 
> xx [icantojones]


	2. Outside the Government

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft explains his connection to the Torchwood team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> I'm embarking on a cracky, headcanon-y adventure here, and I still have no idea where this is going. Hopefully I'll figure it out sooner or later, but I'm really not kidding when I say you're totally welcome to send ideas my way. No promises that I'll use them, but there's a pretty good chance that I might!
> 
> I hope you continue to enjoy, lovelies.

_ “Thank you,” the man murmured, then raised his head and fixed his eyes on Ianto with a spark of recognition. “Ianto Jones.” _

Gwen almost slapped Jack in the face out of surprise at hearing Ianto’s name come out of the stranger’s mouth. Jack looked just as dumbfounded, and the three of them decided it was time to enter the conversation. 

\-----

_Oh god, he knows my name,_ Ianto thought. _Does he know about Lisa? Does he know why I’m here? Oh shit, does he know about me and Jack?_

Jack stalled his train of thought by speaking directly to Mr Holmes. “Alright, time for some Q&A,” he began in that voice of his that seemed friendly on the surface but held the feeling of cold steel beneath. Ianto loved that voice, when it wasn’t being used towards him. The team took their seats at the conference table.

Gwen noticed Owen still looked pale, and, though their affair had ended after the events of the past month, she still cared deeply for him and put an arm around his shoulders. “You okay?” she asked carefully.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Owen burst out, speaking _very_ loud and _very_ fast. “I’mthegranddadofafortythreeyearoldand--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whooooaaa.” Jack interrupted. “You’re going to need to slow _way_  down, and did I hear something about you being a _grandpa_?”

Owen started breathing a little too quickly, and Gwen rubbed his back until he calmed down again. 

The guest opened his mouth. “This should help clear things up. My name is Mycroft Holmes, son of Siger Holmes, grandson of Diane Holmes.” Tosh and Jack exchanged a look at hearing that name. “And, apparently, of Owen Harper. When you sent Diane back to the 1950s through the rift, she was pregnant with Owen’s son.”  

Jack nodded calmly. Tosh blinked at him. Gwen gasped and gave Owen a quick hug. 

"I grew up hearing my grandmother's stories about the future." Holmes continued. "Everyone thought she was mad, you know. I don't know  _why_ you lot didn't retcon her properly before sending her back ... rather lax on your part, really, I'm afraid..."

Jack narrowed his eyes at Holmes. Clearly the man knew far too much, about Torchwood, its bases, and its practices. And now that he thought about it, looked slightly familiar.

Holmes stared back at him, watching Harkness's thoughts and confusion pass across his face. "Oh heavens, really?" he raised an eyebrow. "Mr Jones here knows who I am ... but I suppose after centuries of faces passing you by, I can't actually expect you to remember every single one, isn't that right, Captain Harkness?"

Jack's eyes turned stormy and he stood up quickly, slamming his fist onto the conference room table so hard that Owen and Holmes' mugs clattered. 

"Enough with the mysterious bullshit!" he roared. "You're starting to try my patience, so go on and give us some goddamn answers or I'm going to have 'Mister Jones Here' make you another cup of tea, this time with something special in it!"

Ianto cut his eyes at Jack, biting his lower lip and grinning as if to say  _You're criticising someone else for too much 'mysterious bullshit?' Hypocrite._

Jack rolled his eyes at Ianto, slightly calmer now, and sat down. "Answers. Please."

And Mycroft Holmes began his story.

\-----

"My grandmother was a truly extraordinary woman," he began. "She was from a wealthy family, and was considered somewhat of a 'black sheep.' A female pilot in an era in which women were expected to be nothing more than housewives, nurses at best, and she never gave up her sense of adventure ... It's easy to see why her family despaired of her ever settling down. However, after she came back ...  _changed_ ... her pregnancy was a bit of a scandal and her ramblings about the future even more so. 

"Her parents -- my great-grandparents, whom I regrettably never met -- exercised what little control they had left over their daughter and forced her to stay on the ground, living with them. They made up a story that her husband, the father of her son, had died, explaining where the child had come from, and to a certain extent, her growing madness. At the time they could, with some credibility, pass it off as widow's despair.

"Compared to her, I suppose my childhood was rather normal, but compared to any other child of the time, we were grossly _abnormal_. My brother and I -- did I mention that you have another grandson? He doesn't know about you, of course; I rather think he's deleted our grandmother's stories from his memory -- were, well, geniuses. Perhaps that comes as a side effect of being the descendant of someone from the twenty-first century.

"As a result, we grew up mostly alone. We never really had friends. Sherlock, that's my brother, occupied his time trying to solve old police cases, and actually has made a living from it; he's working as a consultant for Scotland Yard now. Sometime in his mid-twenties, he fell into a rather nasty drug addiction."

Gwen, who had been staring unblinkingly at him for his entire story, squeaked an "oh, no!" 

Mycroft smirked at her. "He's alright now. Thank you for your concern." 

He continued with the story. "I, on the other hand, spent a great deal of time with my grandmother. I never thought she was truly mad; her stories added up far too well to be the ramblings of a madwoman. She was a constant presence in my early years, and I lived on her tales. 

"So imagine my surprise when, after earning my degree, beginning to work in the government, and rising through the ranks in London, I was called into a meeting with the Prime Minister and Yvonne Hartman --"

Ianto's eyes had been widening throughout, piecing things together and reconciling these facts with his mind's image of Mycroft Holmes, and interrupted, " _The_ Yvonne Hartman?" 

"Yes, Mr Jones," Mycroft smiled indulgently. "One and the same."

"Anyway, I was called into a meeting with the Prime Minister and Ms Hartman, who had jointly agreed that, due to my discretion in certain ... security matters ... that I would be an excellent candidate for the position of government liaison to Torchwood London. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the _Torchwood_ of my grandmother's stories existed as a thriving top-secret organisation." 

Jack's head thumped forward onto the table. At least he didn't have to worry about retconning their visitor, but a relic from Torchwood One? _And_ the government? Fuck no, not in his base. Maybe he'd retcon him anyway, just for the hell of it. 

Mycroft ignored the _thud_ of Jack's head against the wood and turned to look at Owen once again. "And if Torchwood existed, her Doctor Owen Harper probably did, too. As soon as I could, I looked into Torchwood's files and found you. Obviously, I couldn't contact you until you had closed the time loop, which didn't happen until three weeks ago our time. I could have come a bit earlier, but my job demands much of my time, and I simply couldn't make it out to Cardiff until today. And I suppose it worked out better this way, anyhow, since you seemed rather torn up over Diane's departure." 

Mycroft waited a few moments for the team to digest the immense amount of information he had dumped on them in the past few minutes, then nodded.

"Dr Harper, I don't wish to inconvenience you, and I know all this knowledge comes as quite a shock. But I really need to get back to London. There's a car waiting for me."

Owen nodded dumbly. 

"Here's my private number," Mycroft slid a cream-coloured business card across the table and drained his coffee. "Please feel free to call me if you have any questions, or... " he shrugged a little uncomfortably, "if you just want to talk sometime."

He stood, tucked his chair under the table, and strolled out, pressing the button for the invisible lift. 

"Wait! Mr Holmes!" Ianto, after clearing his head, realised that he still had unanswered questions and chased the man into the main room of the Hub, just as Mycroft was stepping onto the lift platform.

"Yes?" Mycroft tilted his head, umbrella once more at his side.

"Er ... Obviously I knew who you were, but, sir, how did you recognise me?" 

Mycroft chuckled softly. "Ever since you started at London, we've kept an eye on you, Mr Jones. We saw a lot of promise in you, even as a junior researcher." He smiled. "You seem to have come into your own here."

The platform started to rise, as Mycroft's next words drifted down to Ianto on the ground level: "And, of course, you saved my life."

Ianto's mouth dropped open.  _That's bloody insane; he's Mycroft Holmes, you'd think I'd remember saving his life. I couldn't have..._  

"I --" he started, but Holmes was already nearly through the roof, the noise of the lift making it impossible for the conversation to continue. "-- saved your life?" Ianto finished in a whisper to himself. He sighed and straightened his tie.

Tosh had returned to her station, and watched Holmes make his departure on the CCTV. True to his word, he stepped off the pavement and walked approximately four steps when a large black SUV --  _almost as nice as ours,_ she smiled with a hint of pride -- stopped to pick him up.  _He seemed nice enough_ , she thought.  _Bit creepy, but nice. At least someone in the government knows we exist but also knows to leave us well enough alone. Owen's grandson, though..._ she shook her head.  _Wow._

Gwen and Jack exchanged looks over the top of Owen's head. 

 _I can't begin to imagine what he's going through now,_ Gwen thought.

Jack raised his eyebrows at her and motioned with his head towards the door. Gwen nodded, following him out of the room.

Owen sat alone at the conference table, Gwen and Jack having retreated to give him some space to think. Turning the card over and over in his hands, he thought. _It's been a shitty few weeks, and now I suddenly have a grandson -- two grandsons, apparently -- one of whom is a detective and the other is forty-fucking-three and the government guy, well, ex-government guy, for the London branch._ _I never thought a day **without** aliens could get this weird... _

He started laughing at the absurdity of it all. It seemed like the only thing left to do.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written (and as such is not beta'd), so thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying it.
> 
> I'm trying to update at least weekly, but we'll see if that can really happen, because of all the stuff happening in the next couple months. I'll try though because I love you all!
> 
> Any comments are welcome; anything from criticism to praise to suggested plot points (especially suggested plot points! I want to play with your headcanons!), so please please please post your thoughts.
> 
> xx [icantojones]


	3. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone goes home, there's some Janto flirting (yay!), and Ianto tells Jack a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sitting here at 11:00 at night drinking tea that's gone stone-cold and eating strawberry liquorice while trying to write a fluffy flirt scene that does justice to my perfect canon OTP. How do I spend my Friday nights? Good question.
> 
> It's all for you, lovelies. Hope you appreciate it.

_And of course, you saved my life... You saved my life... saved my life..._

 

Mycroft Holmes’ words repeated over and over, tumbling through Ianto’s mind as he cleared, tidied, and straightened the Hub, running almost on autopilot. Jack had sent Owen home early -- that was an _order_ \-- and had given the others the rest of the afternoon off. Tosh had drifted out with Owen, presumably to give whatever support she could, and provide a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on. 

_Poor Tosh,_ Ianto had thought, watching her follow Owen out the door. _She’s going to get stung. God knows you should never try to offer sympathy to Owen, especially when he’s  confused. He just converts this stuff into anger and directs that at the nearest object -- which, by the looks of it, is going to be Tosh tonight..._

Gwen left soon after; Ianto guessed that after being rattled by the admittedly very strange events of the day, she could use the security and stability of her mundane but loving Rhys. 

Which left Ianto, alone in his own mind, puzzling through the enigma that was Mycroft Holmes as he rubbed down the coffee machine with a rag. _You saved my life... And of course, you saved my life..._

“...to Ianto! Hello?” The American - accented words pierced through the cloud of Ianto’s thoughts as a pair of warm hands slid around his waist and -- “hey” -- Jack’s voice, barely a breath, directly into his left ear. Ianto relaxed back against the Captain’s slightly-higher-than-human body temperature, and turned his head to make eye contact. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I was thinking.”

“So I gathered,” Jack huffed out a brief chuckle. “I called your name a couple times, and when you didn’t respond I came out here to find you methodically wiping this thing -- I think you must have cleaned it six times by now.”

“Sorry,” Ianto repeated, smiling slightly. Jack tilted his head forward just enough to kiss him swiftly. 

“It’s fine. You’re cute.”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “I try my hardest, _Sir.”_

Jack exhaled and nuzzled the skin below Ianto’s ear, his speech slightly muffled by Ianto’s shoulder. “You keep calling me ‘Sir’ in that voice, and it’s making it very difficult to do my job...” 

“Mmm,” Ianto hummed. “That’s why I do it; you have to find your entertainment in the simple thi--” he cut off when Jack abruptly bit him. “Stop it, you!” He brought up a hand and lightly whacked the top of Jack’s head. 

Jack straightened up and grinned brightly at him. “I’ll pay you cash if you can look me in the eye and honestly say you didn’t like it, though,” he said with a wink.

Ianto made no comment. 

“Aha,” Jack’s smile widened further. “I can see the tops of your ears turning red!”

Ianto stared at Jack for a few seconds, then got his revenge by deliberately turning to lean back against the counter on his elbows, tilting his head, and slowly loosening his tie, not missing the way Jack swallowed hard as his gaze drifted from Ianto’s eyes to his neck. “You were saying, _Sir_?” he raised an eyebrow.

Jack growled -- literally _growled_ \-- at him, then lunged towards Ianto, whose hands curled around the straps of Jack’s braces and tugged him in, while Jack’s hands planted themselves on the counter behind Ianto.

\-----

Ianto Jones would be the first to admit that his life had increased magnificently since he’d started sleeping with his boss, he thought, the sensations of soft lips, nipping teeth, tangling tongues, and above all the intense and intoxicating scent and taste of Jack Harkness clouding his mind. Even if it _had_ started out as a cover for Lisa. A highly undignified noise escaped from the back of Ianto’s throat as he tangled his hands in Jack’s hair. But Lisa was gone now, it had been almost _four months_ now; there was no reason for Ianto to keep going on with this, and yet he stayed. Whatever the hell _that_ meant, Ianto didn’t bother trying to figure out. 

They broke for air, foreheads pressed against each other, both men breathing heavily. 

Ianto smirked. “Was there an actual reason you wanted to find me, or was the plan to just jump me in the kitchen? _Not_ that I’m complaining...”

“Nah, not really,” Jack shrugged. “Got a little bored. I tried to write down something about today, but there’s no official reports or anything to be filed since there weren’t any aliens, so, you know, not much for me to do.” 

“Fair enough,” Ianto nodded.

“Though now that you mention it,” Jack looked inquisitively at Ianto, “wanna talk about Mycroft Holmes? Or what you were thinking about while you were zombie-cleaning before I, as you so eloquently put it, ‘jumped you in the kitchen’?”

Ianto had to laugh out loud at that one. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Let’s go to my office. We can talk, have some scotch--”

Ianto snorted. “I bet you use that one on all the other girls,” he teased him.

“Well, it works, doesn’t it?” Jack raised his eyebrows. “I got you...”

Ianto bumped him with his shoulder, then took off sprinting toward Jack’s office, cackling maniacally. “Last one there is ‘it’ for naked hide-and-seek!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Fuck!” Jack swore and took off to chase after him. He arrived in his office to find Ianto standing by his desk, already pouring two glasses of the whisky. Ianto turned to offer him one, and replaced the bottle on the shelf before sitting down, facing Jack. 

“So...” Jack prompted. 

Ianto looked blankly back at him. “I wasn’t joking when I said I don’t know where to start.”

“How about at the beginning?”

Ianto stuck his tongue out at his Captain. “Fine. Look, though, if you’re trying to get information about Holmes, I’m not sure I can help you. Everything he said was news to me. I rather thought he’d died, actually. And I _really_ didn’t think he knew who _I_ was.”

“It’s okay, Ianto. Just... I need _something._ I’m kind of at a loss here.”

Jack admitting to not knowing something? That was new. Ianto sighed. “Alright. Did I ever tell you how I started at London?”

Jack shook his head. “I know bits and pieces, but not the whole story.”

“I was young, fresh out of university,” Ianto began. “I had a degree in anthropology -- I wanted to be a museum curator --” he paused, smiling at Jack. “Look how that turned out...”

Jack laughed. “Torchwood: best museum in the galaxy.”

“Anyway, I was trying to get a job at a museum, when I get a call from this strange woman who doesn’t introduce herself, who says she’s seen my CV and can I come to Canary Wharf tomorrow, because she’s got a museum in desperate need of a researcher and archivist, and I’d be perfect for the job. So I figure _what the hell, it’s not like I get to be picky about job interviews,_ and, well, as soon as I set foot in the building, I knew I wasn’t about to leave. It was the best museum I’d ever seen, and the job was being offered to me on a silver platter. I couldn’t ask for anything better. 

“Torchwood’s like that, you know...” Ianto murmured, so softly Jack had to lean forward to catch his words. Ianto was no longer looking at him, instead staring with a soft focus toward the wall behind him. “Gets under your skin. Once you find Torchwood, well, there’s no other job you can even think about having.”

“Because it’s not just a job,” Jack whispered. Ianto’s eyes snapped back to his face. “It’s _everything.”_

Ianto nodded, the corner of his mouth curling into a small smile. “‘Mycroft Holmes’ was one of those names you hear in whispers around corners, and you never see a face to match with the name. I was only able to gather little snatches of information. Ms Hartman was terrified of him. That was what _I_ found the most interesting; she isn’t -- wasn’t -- scared of anything. I think I once heard someone say he _was_ the British Government, though at the time I assumed I’d misheard them saying he _worked for_ the government. Although now ... maybe I heard right.

“I only ever saw Mr Holmes once before today. They called him in just as the cybermen started attacking, so I knew he was coming. Even though I didn’t know him, it’s not too hard to put two and two together when you hear ‘Holmes is coming’ and then see this ginger man in a really nice suit walk in surrounded by armed guards. Last I saw him, I--”

Ianto stopped abruptly and looked away from Jack, taking a deep breath. “I had just found Lisa, and I was carrying her to safety, and there was Mycroft Holmes, fighting four cybermen at once. I mean, he was doing surprisingly well, but I guess... well, there were _four_ of them, he was alone; I didn’t think he’d survive. I always felt a bit guilty, like I should have helped, but I was focused on Lisa, and god knows I’ve paid for _that_ a thousand times over.”

A bit of hysteria began to creep into Ianto’s voice, and Jack reached out to squeeze his hand. 

“And then today, I come in to bring Owen some coffee, when _surprise!_ Holmes is sitting right there and _surprise again!_ He apparently knows my name. And if that weren’t enough of a potential heart attack, I followed him out of the conference room, and he says he’s ‘kept an eye on me’ ever since I started at London! And _then,_ the mysterious bastard says, right as he’s leaving through the roof, that I _saved his life_. That’s what’s been getting me. You’d think I’d remember saving Mycroft Holmes’ life. I don’t know, Jack.” Ianto sighed. “I just don’t know.” He looked weary, and still wouldn’t look at Jack’s eyes.

_Weird I didn’t remember him today,_ Jack thought, then shook his head. _Actually, that’s typical London. Never gave a shit about Cardiff, and that’s the way we like it. I probably only saw him a couple times; I don’t remember having talked to him ever._

Jack noticed he was still holding Ianto’s hand, and began to use his thumb to draw calming circles on his skin. “Ianto. Hey. Hey, it’s alright. I’m not mad. I wanted information, and I kind of expected there’d be something about Lisa, given that you knew him from London. It’s okay, really.”

Ianto exhaled. “I know... I know, I just -- I can’t figure out how I could possibly have saved his life.”

“Well, if you really want to find out, you’ll probably have to go pay him a visit. Give it a couple days, and I’d bet Owen wants to find out more too; you two can go together. Maybe I’ll come too.”

“Yes, alright.” Ianto’s face cleared, suddenly breaking into a wicked grin. “And if I remember correctly, you’re ‘it’ first...”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written (and as such is not beta'd), so thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying it. It's a wild, cracky, headcanon-y adventure for me.
> 
> I'm trying to update weekly, but we'll see how well that goes because of all the stuff happening in the next couple months. I'll try though because I love you all!
> 
> Any comments are welcome; anything from criticism to praise to suggested plot points (especially suggested plot points! I want to play with your headcanons!), so please please please post your thoughts.
> 
> xx [icantojones]


	4. Beyond the Police

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen, Ianto, and Jack go to visit Mycroft and have the pleasure of meeting Greg and the ... experience ... of meeting Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an utter piece of trash. I said I was going to try to update weekly, and here it's been 4 weeks without an update. Terribly sorry. 
> 
> On the bright side, though, I've gotten into university (yay!) and that, I think, is a pretty legitimate excuse for why I haven't been writing. Though honestly no excuse is good enough.
> 
> I felt I owed you darlings a new chapter, so I hope you enjoy. I had fun writing in the Sherlock characters, but it feels a bit filler-y. All mysteries should be wrapped up in the next chapter, though, so I'll try and get that up asap!

Greg Lestrade was astounded to find the house lights on when he arrived home. It wasn’t often that Mycroft came home before the wee hours of the morning for anything less than a special occasion, let alone before he himself did. He allowed himself a small grin, silently thanking whatever higher powers there might be for rewarding him so unexpectedly after an especially gruelling case, halfheartedly attempted to tame his bristly silver hair, unlocked the door and ... was astounded again, in rather a less welcome manner.

When Greg had allowed his imagination to run just a little bit wild outside the door of his home, he had conjured up a few different scenarios. Mycroft, naked, on the sofa with a glass of wine. Mycroft, naked-except-for-an-apron, cooking dinner. Mycroft, naked, tied to the headboard of their bed and waiting for him expectantly. One scene which he had simply _not_ imagined was Mycroft, fully clothed (Greg scowled; there’s one point lost right there), sitting in the armchair facing two slightly-uncomfortable-looking young men on the sofa, one in a sharp suit, the other in a leather jacket and jeans, and one far-too-comfortable-looking older man sitting in _his_ armchair, with artfully-tousled hair and wearing braces _(who even owns_ braces _anymore? Seriously?),_ a greyish-blue vintage greatcoat tossed casually over the back of the chair. Greg disliked him upon sight.

Mycroft started when he heard the door open -- not that there was much conversation occurring, his guests preferring to observe their surroundings and himself deep in his own thoughts -- and nearly spilled his drink. Greg closed the door softly behind him, hung up his coat, nodded to Mycroft, and stalked over to pour himself a glass, giving Mycroft time to compose himself and begin his explanations.

“Gregory,” Mycroft began, gesturing to each of the guests in turn, “may I introduce you to Ianto Jones, Owen Harper, and Jack Harkne--” 

“ _Captain_ Jack Harkness,” the braces-wearing man interrupted, standing up and offering Greg an outstretched hand. _American_ , Greg noted. “Nice to meet you.” An alarmingly white smile lit up his face, and Greg shook the man’s hand warily, retreating to grab an extra chair from the kitchen for himself.

Mycroft looked slightly put-out at having been interrupted by _Captain_ Jack Harkness, but continued, “Yes, of course, _Captain,_ my mistake.”

Greg couldn’t help but notice Ianto Jones’s sideways glance at the Captain, looking for all the world as if he were trying very _, very_ hard not to laugh. 

“And this is Gregory Lestrade, my ...” Mycroft cleared his throat and smiled softly, subconsciously crossing his left hand over his right, “... fiancé.” 

Ianto “observe all, say nothing” Jones realised that when Mycroft had come to visit the Hub, he hadn’t been wearing the platinum ring that now graced his hand, so this engagement was either new -- within the past two weeks -- or Mycroft had been for some reason hiding the news from them. He was willing to bet on the former. He cleared his throat. “Congratulations,” he said gently, directing his gaze first at Mycroft, then at Greg. 

_Welsh_ , Greg noted. This one, he liked. This one had manners. This one had not taken his armchair. The Captain reminded him of Sherlock in an odd sort of way. Perhaps it had been the dramatic coat, or the air of owning everything around him, but Sherlock had been getting on his nerves lately and Greg acknowledged that he may have transferred some of his annoyance at Sherlock onto Harkness. However, rationalizing his instant dislike didn’t really make him like the Captain any more. 

“Thank you, Mr Jones,” Mycroft said. “Gregory, these are ... colleagues, of a sort. They’re from the Cardiff branch of my old job.” 

_Explains the Welsh one,_ Greg thought. _Not the American though. And the other one -- Harper? -- hasn’t said anything at all; no idea where he’s from, then._

“Well, that’s all very nice,” Greg said, “but, well, not to be rude or anything, but it’s ten thirty on a Thursday night, so ... why are you all here?”

Mycroft could ask himself the same question. He had given the card with his number at Diogenes club to Owen only, and had been a bit surprised when the club had called him and announced that they had let in three guests who had called ahead and given his name -- _Must speak with the management tomorrow. Security seems to have gotten a bit lax --_ and he’d had to rush over and receive them. Why all three of them had come, he hadn’t the slightest idea, and why he’d brought them all home, he really, truly couldn’t say. Perhaps he’d gone a bit senile in what Sherlock liked to refer to as his ‘old age.’ Which reminded him...

Mycroft shook his head at Greg. “Gregory, love, I’m afraid they’re not even all here yet --Sherlock should be here shortly, as well.”

“Oh, _bloody_ \--” Greg was not amused. “Fuck it, I’m going to the pub with John then.” He stalked over to Mycroft. “We’re talking later, Myc.” Though the annoyance in his voice lost a bit of its venom as he leaned over to kiss Mycroft gently on the cheek. 

Mycroft looked anxiously up at him. “I’m sorry, dear, it was all a bit last-minute.” The corners of his lips curved up, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Greg rolled his eyes. _Bloody posh bastard, he can say anything in that voice and he knows I can’t be mad._ “I know.” He moved over to put his coat back on, and opened the door to find the fist of Sherlock Holmes perilously close to his face. 

“Oh. Hello.” Greg said tersely, reminded of just how _fucking obnoxious_ Sherlock had been over the course of the past week and a half. He side-stepped around the man on his doorstep, leaving Mycroft and company to deal with him, called John as he was getting in the car, and made arrangements to meet him at the usual pub. 

\-----

After clearing it with Owen at the Diogenes club, Mycroft had invited Sherlock over as well, figuring it might be nice for Owen to meet his other grandson. Now, upon seeing Owen’s level of discomfort paired with the stormy expression on Sherlock’s face, he was starting to re-think that idea; however, always the excellent host, invited his brother in and took his coat. 

“Now _why_ did I have to come over here, brother? And please make it snappy; I’ve got a supply of cow eyeballs waiting in the fridge at home.” 

Mycroft shuddered. “Charming, as usual.” He moved through the introductions a bit faster this time, remembering Harkness’s title. “I’ve invited you to introduce you specifically to Dr Harper.”

Sherlock, rarely unnerved by anything, was a bit taken aback by Owen’s blatant staring at him since the moment he stepped through the door. He made a rude face at the doctor and was even more stunned when Owen made the same face back at him and continued to stare pointedly. 

Another sideways glance passed from Ianto to Jack.

Since Sherlock Holmes had come inside, Owen had indeed been staring at him. He knew he was staring, too, but just couldn’t make himself stop. He hadn’t seen much of the resemblance in Mycroft, but upon seeing Sherlock there was no denying that he was indeed somehow related to Diane. There was the same dark, curled hair, the same grey eyes, the same angular face -- and then, when the man crinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at Owen, there was Diane’s spirit, too. 

“... specifically to Dr Harper, because I’ve just found that he’s a distant relative of ours.” Mycroft had continued talking to Sherlock.

Sherlock snorted imperiously. “You think _I_ care about new-found distant relations? I can barely deal with our parents’ occasional visits and _you_ constantly breathing down my neck; why do you think I’d be interested in _another_ one?”

Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock, as you often seem to forget, this is not solely for your benefit; I thought Dr Harper might wish to meet _you_.”

Sherlock looked exasperated. “Alright then.” He extended a hand to the seated Owen. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said through gritted teeth. Owen raised his eyebrows, shook his hand, and watched Sherlock turn on his heel, announce, “I’ll be leaving now,” toss his coat over his shoulders, and exit, slamming the door.

Mycroft sat with his head in his hands. He muttered something into his palms.

“What was that, now?” Jack asked. 

Mycroft raised his head and smiled ruefully. “That went about as well as I expected.” He turned to Owen. “So, there’s your _other_ grandson.” A shadow seemed to cross his face but disappeared immediately afterwards, for although Mycroft had, through the years, learned to have some control over his emotions regarding Sherrinford, the third brother remained a pressure point of his. No need for Owen to know about that, though.

Owen laughed. It wasn’t quite like having Diane back, but Sherlock Holmes seemed to be an interesting enough character in his own right. If he were to be completely honest with himself (which, usually, he wasn’t. It’s a coping mechanism.), Mycroft Holmes scared him a little. But Sherlock, for all his arrogance and dramatics, reminded him a lot of Diane, and even a bit of himself, from his younger days.

Mycroft smiled back. “Anyway, now you’ve met.” Facing Ianto and Jack, he now asked, “Are the two of you here for moral support for Dr Harper, or was there something else?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written (and as such is not beta'd), so thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying it. It's a wild, cracky, headcanon-y adventure for me.
> 
> I'm trying to update regularly (I originally said weekly but that seems to have been a little optimistic), but we'll see how well that goes because of all the stuff happening in the next couple months. I'll try though because I love you all!
> 
> Any comments are welcome; anything from criticism to praise to suggested plot points (especially suggested plot points! I want to play with your headcanons!), so please please please post your thoughts.
> 
> xx [icantojones]


End file.
